Bright and Clear
by rainingWolf
Summary: Love is for children. She would not lie, not at a crucial interrogation such as this, not to the God of Mischief who would twist her words around and lather a poisonous coat to her sentence. After all, she had not been a child, not for a very long time.


_No, I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you!_

_Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear!_

_And when he wakes, he'll have just enough time to see the work he's done, and when he scream,_

_I'll break his skull!_

_This is my bargain, you mewling quim!_

* * *

When Loki had stepped forward to pin her with his viridian eyes that seemed to glow despite the light streaming in from the overhead fixtures to whisper "Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" in his mocking dark voice, all she said was that love is for children.

And it was true. She would not lie, not at a crucial interrogation such as this, not to the God of Mischief who would twist her words around and lather a poisonous coat to her sentence.

After all, she had not been a child, not for a very long time.

* * *

To admit she was not affected by the God of Mischief's heated words would be a mockery of everything she was, everything she had trained herself to be. But it was not a lie and she knew she could not fool herself when she woke up in the wee hours in the morning, drenched in sweat as her dreams slipped away from her, leaving her only a vague sense of loss and terror and an impression of blue eyes that were as cold as ice. She could not ignore the fact that her muscles were tight with exhaustion, having ran on the treadmill to erase the memories of the dark and blood and the taste of metal in her mouth when she had rammed Clint against the railing furiously, hoping beyond hope that that single gesture would bring him back to his senses. She would run for hours, sprinting on the machine as if the hounds from Hell were chasing after her.

She thought she had mastered it, the miniscule twitch she developed every time Clint came close to her, the way her stomach seemed to drop to the floor whenever he looked her in the eyes. Whenever his hand brushed hers when passing a cup of coffee or when he was passing her a folder full of information about their next mission, all she did was quietly take the offered item without a single word, her eyes steadily looking at anywhere that was not him.

She was better than this. She was the Black Widow, master of assassination, mistress of seduction- able to school her features into a blank slate and clamp down on the rising feeling of dread and horror when she realized that _Clint _realized something was amiss.

She saw the way he flinched and recoiled from her when it registered in his mind that their relationship was no longer the same as before because something has utterly _changed _and how a flash of pain crossed over his face before he seemed to steel himself and clamped down on his emotions. Hard.

They had been alone in the corridor and he had wheeled away, pedaling backwards until he reached the archway of a door, his eyes becoming more hooded with each step he took. She knew what he must be thinking- she knew him all too well because they were both sullied and dirtied and they've found a kindred spirit with each other and therefore there were no secrets between them _until now_- so she said nothing and let him enter the darkness of his room, his door shutting ominously with a heavy _thud. _

There was nothing more to be said even though the rest of their group were eyeballing them over breakfast the next day when Clint stepped into the room, spotted Natasha, and immediately backed out, his face a hard mask.

Then the distance between them was widening as Clint went on solo missions and she was halfway across the world in Ukraine, perched on top of a desk, strangling a guy who was selling secrets.

Once she got back, there was a flurry of activity and a whirlwind of action and before she knew it, three months had passed and the rift between someone who she had depended on was almost to a breaking point; she could practically see the straining of their bond as if it was a physical thing, the rope connecting them only holding on by a mere couple of strings.

She knew the others were worried; Stark had actually come forward one day to quietly ask her if everything was all right and she had wanted to laugh a sickening laugh because can't he see? Everything was _fine _and everything was _dandy _and it doesn't matter that she felt like breaking all the vases in the house right now because she was _Black Widow _and she can have no weakness.

Then it was Steve who stepped forward, concern marring his handsome boyish features, as he inquired as to why exactly Clint was holing up in his room whenever he had the spare time to breathe between his voluminous missions. His voluminous _solo _missions. "Is something wrong?" the American hero had asked, his head tilted in a questioning manner even though his normally friendly azure eyes seemed to turn a darker sharper colour, an indicator that he had not missed the interaction or lack thereof between the two agents.

She just flapped her hands in a hopefully comforting gesture and replied with a noncommittal smile that nothing's wrong. She had then excused herself, walking away from the man, when she was halted when Steve said in a world weary voice that if she ever needed to talk, he was there for her. And before she could even turn around or even voice anything, he was already gone, leaving her in the hallway that seemed to close in around her.

Another two weeks passed and she was sitting, curled up in one of the many living room chairs, listening to Bruce and Tony's conversation about some complicated science topic when Clint walked in the room. He had not noticed her, his lips quirking upwards towards what Thor had said as the Thunder God lumbered in behind him, Steve not a few steps behind. She had stiffened; the cup she had been nursing, forgotten as she set it down and it rang a very audible _clack _that seemed to vibrate across the room.

Bruce and Tony abruptly stopped talking as they turned to face her, Tony's eyebrows arching as if to convey that he was surprised at the audacity she had to cut into his intellectual conversation like that. There was a pregnant pause as both scientists seemed to register there was something acutely wrong as Clint also froze. There was a long moment of silence, broken by Bruce turning to Tony and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, "So how's Pepper doing?"

Tony blinked at the older man, startled. The silence was almost unbearable and it seemed to be solidifying like ice, even as, out of the corner of her eyes, she spied Thor and Steve sidled past Clint and gingerly took seats at the bar, leaning against the counter.

"I- oh yes- she's fine!" Tony said loudly. "Yes, she's flying to Tokyo right now- to attend a conference-" Clint was still silent, staring at her as if to peer into her soul and her breath hitched; somewhere in the back of her mind, she was almost thankful to Stark who seemed to be exclaiming louder and louder about Pepper and her trip to Japan's capital.

"Here, I've got a picture of Tokyo!" Tony shouted, patting his pockets as if to rifle for the photo right then and now. In his attempt to find the picture, the billionaire's rustling of clothes almost obscured Clint's very soft words.

"I've missed you."

Those whispered words seemed to snake across the room to embrace her and Tony stilled, his eyes comically spinning back and forth between the two agents. She would have laughed, or at least offered an amused chuckle, at Stark's antics but his actions didn't even register with her as all she saw were Clint's grey blue eyes and how tired they looked.

She couldn't help but pull her legs closer to her as Clint seemed to dredge up some resolve from deep within him and stalked over and settling in the chair next to her. There was a beat as all the men in the room focused on her and she had to fight the urge to lower her head to let her growing red mane of hair hide her face.

Clint was whispering again, "I've missed you," in a tight voice and then he was reaching over to reach her hand, maybe to pat it or cradle it, she didn't know because she was already arching back, her hands coming to form fists at her side.

Something in her face must have given way because Clint's face shuttered close even as he whispered for a third time, "I've missed you." There was a phantom echo of _don't you miss me too _that was not voiced but it seemed to reverberate in her head because she knew him too well, knew that what he was saying was more than just _I miss you _but more of a _please talk to me. _

_Don't lock me out._

And she started when Clint's eyes pinned her own, his lips twitching as if he knew what she was thinking. A desperate look flashed in his eyes before it was gone and he opened his mouth to say the one word that was to be her undoing.

"'_Tasha…_"

There was a second's pause as that singular word registered in her mind and everything seemed to turn white and bleed red. Before she knew it, one hand was on the archer's throat, the other firmly clasped in his hands; she had tried to punch him.

There was a clatter of noise as Tony jumped out of his seat. Steve seemed to want to intervene but was warded off by Bruce's firm hand on his shoulder. Thor had also jumped out of his seat, his stool lying on the floor in his rush to get on his feet.

During it all, Clint just looked at her face, his eyes darting as if to searching for something even as her hand wrapped more tightly around his throat.

"Hey! Let's all calm down-"

An unrecognizable snarl ripped out of her throat as she bored down on Clint. "I will _not _calm down!"

Bruce held up his hands in an 'I surrender' gesture even as he made to step forward. "Let's talk about th-"

"There is _nothing _to talk about!" There was a fleeting moment of clarity that registered in her mind that she was screaming and being irrational but that moment passed swiftly as Clint attempted to say her name again.

"_Don't. Say. My. Name._" Then she was kneeling down, her head above Clint's, her lips ghosting over his ears as she hissed the very words he had asked all those months ago when everything collapsed around her.

"Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and send something else in?" Her voice echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls, making her words infinitely louder than it was. "Tell me, do you know what it's like to be unmade?"

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Thor's face blanch and Steve's face pale marginally. They were soldiers. They were warriors. They understood the meaning she was conveying.

No answer was given and she jerked as Clint drove her fist back, firmly and gently, his other hand coming up to pry hers away from his throat. She ripped her hands away from his grasp to totter backwards a couple steps, wrapping her arms around her, her hands clutching her elbows in a bloodless grip.

In the silence that followed, Clint answered with a heavy sigh.

"_You know I do._"

And it was like things had come full circle and her mind was finally opened at that simple sentence and she saw the way his eyes never wavered away from her face.

His eyes were not soft, or kind, or good; they were not true; they do not make promises; but they told no lies and they took nothing from her.

They were eyes that will always watch her back.

And then she was half laughing, half sobbing, and Clint was there, arms around her as he whispered, "We'll shoulder through this. That's what we do."

And his voice was steady and strong, unlike the gravelly sad voice that had asked her how many agents, how many agents, _how many agents._

And she knew that things were going to get better. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But some day.

After all, she was no longer a child, no longer the helpless little girl who cried about monsters in her dreams. Because the monsters were real and very much alive and they tore at her from the inside out until all she saw was red, red, red, dripping everywhere. But she will not cry; she will shoulder it on as gallantly as she could and well, if she faltered, she could just look up and see those grey blue eyes that twinkled in her presence and send birds flying around in her stomach.

As she sniffed, the others surrounding her in a comforting manner, she reminisces about the conversation that had bought this all on.

_Is this love, Agent Romanoff? _

And she laughed into Clint's sleeve as his hand came up to rest on her head, even as Tony reached out to awkwardly pat her on the shoulder and Bruce handed her a handkerchief he had procured out of nowhere.

No. This was not love. Love is for children.

And she had not been a child, not for a very long time.

* * *

Reviews are much appreciated!

Warning: took a bit of a scene from Deathly Hallows when Percy bursts into the Room of Requirement. _


End file.
